


Sunset and Sea-glass

by mechawaka



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alternate Universe - Merpeople, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Courting Rituals, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Interspecies Awkwardness, Interspecies Relationship(s), MerMay, background Claudevain, felix's terrible communication skills + interspecies cultural barriers, like a lot of it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-07
Updated: 2020-05-16
Packaged: 2021-03-03 00:07:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 14,962
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24055663
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mechawaka/pseuds/mechawaka
Summary: “So what’s going on with you lately?” Claude asks, peeking at her over the top of his phone.Byleth looks up, grimly calculating the price of honesty in this moment.Merpeople are real, Claude, and I kind of want one of them to rail me. And he might be willing?A breath passes. Two.“Haha,” she says instead, refreshing her Twitter feed. Yeah. No way that’s happening.
Relationships: Felix Hugo Fraldarius/My Unit | Byleth
Comments: 59
Kudos: 541





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! This is my love letter to MerMay. I'll be writing it off-and-on over the month whenever I get time (with no set schedule, sorry) but it will be completed by the end!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (edit 6/14/20) gonna put [the mood playlist](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/4p99jBfmyXu0TipA8ZcaWD?si=VILTVnYHSoSEMnruqt5PxA) here instead, since there's art in ch. 3 now!

Summers in Garreg Mach are an absolute bitch.

It gets so hot that Byleth can’t think straight, can only lie in bed on top of her blankets, sticky and overheated and _suffering_ , praying for a stray ocean breeze to blow in through her window and grant her some relief.

This is one of those nights; she’s stripped down to a tank top and athletic shorts but it hasn’t helped, and her overhead fan is doing little more than circulate the humid, sweltering air around the room.

For the third time tonight, and probably the millionth time since she’d moved here two years prior, she wonders why she’d ever followed her father to this collegiate hellscape of rich kids and exorbitant rent. Her position at Garreg Mach University pays pretty well - for an assistant coach in a disfavored wrestling program, that is - but it can’t get her into any of the luxury apartments in town that cater to the wealthy student body.

What it _did_ get her was a two-bed, two-bath unit facing the ocean - _if_ she was willing to sacrifice AC. Her lease is up every Ethereal Moon, and Winter Byleth always comes up with new, plausible-sounding excuses to stay - _oh, the beach is so close_ , she says, _and you can’t beat the view_.

Summer Byleth, roasting on her mattress, wants to go back in time and kick her own ass.

She hops out of bed, hyped up on resentful energy, and squints down at her phone screen. It’s just after five-thirty, a little early for fishing - but what the hell else is she going to do? Sleep? Not likely. She drags a brush through her hair and a different one over her teeth, grabs her pole and tackle box, and heads barefoot for her favorite spot in the city: Far Cove.

Belatedly, after taking her apartment stairs two at a time and skipping across the parking lot, she remembers to alert Claude, her best friend, to her whereabouts. 

_We normal people call this the buddy system_ , he’d said over iced coffees after learning about her late-night habits, _it’s how friends help friends stay alive and not get kidnapped_.

\---

**Me 5:36**

hey im going fishing

**Me 5:36**

if im not at practice come look for my body

**Claude 5:36**

not funny teach

**Me 5:36**

why the hell are you awake

**Me 5:36**

also you can really call me byleth outside school hours

**Claude 5:39**

nah. you’re always teaching me things, so you’re always teach

**Claude 5:39**

things like how to wake up your best friend at ass in the morning on a thursday 

**Claude 5:39**

or how to get stabbed at murder cove by going fishing at ass in the morning on a thursday 

**Me 5:40**

its not called fucking murder cove

**Claude 5:40**

it will be after you get murdered there!

**Me 5:40**

ok love you too. go back to sleep

\---

Not many people are out this early, and that suits Byleth just fine. She’s never really gotten along with others - Claude and his merry band of misfits are outliers - or understood social rules. There’s probably something to that, she’s pondered many times. Something undiagnosed; something tied up in a nomadic childhood with a single, distant parent, and having no real friends until the age of twenty-four.

But she doesn’t have the time, money, or patience to delve into that, so she just swings her fishing pole onto her shoulder, humming to herself as she trudges along the beach. 

She passes a few inebriated kids stumbling back toward the parking lot (and _really_ hopes they’re not planning on driving home like that.) They shoot her curious, disparaging looks, scrutinizing her shabby tank top and bare feet, and snicker amongst themselves before moving on.

 _Ah_ , she thinks. _Freshmen_.

Anyone older would already be accustomed to seeing Coach Eisner’s strange, quiet assistant-and-daughter wandering the beach at odd hours. Her eccentricities and secretive nature were something of a legend on the campus; it wouldn’t be long before these ones heard the stories.

 _She’s meeting [insert student or teacher someone saw her talking to that day] at the beach for a night tryst_. This one is the most common, and also the most unimaginative. 2/10.

 _She and Vice Dean Seteth are having a steamy affair behind Dean Rhea’s back._ Still kind of bland, but at least this one has a specific narrative. 4/10.

 _She kills people and throws the bodies in the ocean_. It’s gruesome, but it’s one of the only ones that doesn’t involve illicit sex, so she gives it points for that. 7/10.

 _She’s not human and returns to the sea at night_. At first she’d laughed at this one, but it’s turned out weirdly prophetic, so it currently holds a perfect score (barring any other late entries.) 10/10.

Before Claude, the rumors had bothered her, but now she takes a sort of pride in her reputation as a local cryptid. _And, besides_ , she sternly informs the imaginary, judgmental freshman in her head, _there’s a very good reason for the secrecy_ . _A big, angry, aggressive reason named-_

“Finally,” he says, raising his head. He’s up against the side of the pier, bare arms folded on top of it while the rest of him is still mostly submerged, his sleek, forked tail slapping the water’s surface impatiently. He points the index finger of a webbed hand in her direction, moonlight glinting wickedly off its curved claw. “I knew your weak body couldn’t handle this heat.”

- _Felix_.

Byleth spears her fishing pole down into the sand and drops her phone and tackle box nearby, grinning indignantly. “Get ready to eat those words, fish boy,” she mutters, gearing up for a running start off the pier.

\---

Far Cove - or _murder cove_ , as Claude lovingly calls it - is largely avoided by locals. It’s isolated from the roads and the boardwalk, too small for the wild bonfire parties beloved by students, and surrounded by tall, jagged rocks on two sides. For a socially awkward fishing enthusiast, it’s heaven - but, as it turns out, those features also make it a perfect refuge for a socially awkward humanoid sea creature.

The first time she’d met Felix - about four months ago, now - he’d popped out of the water next to the pier and unceremoniously challenged her to a duel. 

_Hey, you_ , he’d said, incredibly blase about the giant fish tail swishing in the water behind him, _you look like a fighter. Fight me_.

Understandably, Byleth had needed some time to adjust to his presence, request, and general existence. She might have been a social outcast with no real grasp of human behavior, but that didn’t mean she was any better at _inhuman_ behavior.

So after a panicked sprint back to her apartment, and then a week of contemplation and several bottles of vodka, she’d returned to answer his provocation - because why not, right? - and officially had her first sparring session with a merman. 

It was, admittedly, a disaster; her eyes had barely adjusted to the water before a dark shape had slammed her into a rock and knocked all the air from her lungs.

 _Don’t worry, human_ , he’d said smugly as she crawled onto the shore, _down here, I have the natural advantage_.

The second time went better - she’d fought fast opponents before, after all, and only needed to adjust to the extra dimension of this new arena - and she’d hauled him up onto the pier, pinning his torso with her knee and dripping seawater onto his shocked face as she’d declared: _And up here,_ I _have the natural advantage_.

It had marked the start of a very strange friendship built on fighting and introversion (because, as she’d found out, Felix also came to Far Cove to escape _his_ people.) But, despite the various cultural barriers - _So you’re a warrior, then, like me? How many have you slain?_ \- and frequent misunderstandings - _Why the fuck would you take all the good parts from a fish and then dry it out?_ \- Byleth had quickly found that she liked hanging out with him. A lot. 

Suspiciously a lot. 

So much that her visits have grown from once to three times a week, and her excuses with Claude and her father have grown thin.

Byleth might be inexperienced, but she’s not an idiot. Her perception of Felix had changed at some point, and she’s long deduced what it means when her gaze lingers on his long hair and lean musculature, when she admires the shape of his mouth and the slope of his neck, when her breath hitches every time he looks at her with those intense amber eyes.

But she doesn’t have the emotional fortitude to delve into that, and she usually deals with the frustration by putting him in a headlock.

\---

“But it _was_ the heat, right?” Felix asks after five rounds (three points to Byleth, two to him.) “You couldn’t sleep again, like last time?”

They’re sitting on the end of the pier while she casts her line off it, watching the float bob gently in the low-tide waves. Well, it’s more like Felix is _reclining_ \- he’s in the water with his back pushed against it, elbows braced on the wood behind him, while his tail moves gently back and forth to keep him in place.

Byleth takes a moment to appreciate this downward angle she’s got on him, how his hair cascades down his back and pools on the pier, the jut of his shoulder blades as they support his weight, the sleek line of his abdomen and tail - the same color as his hair, a dark blue-black - as they gyrate in the water.

“-Yeah,” she says, forcing her eyes back to his face. 

He looks up and grins, revealing sharpened, gleaming white teeth, and _good Goddess why does she find this so hot?_

“I thought so. How did humans become dominant on land if you can’t even regulate your own temperature?”

She wrinkles her nose. “I mean, we _can_ , but only to a certain point,” she explains, forming and then discarding a quick rundown on global warming. Too much context. “After that point, we have to use technology.”

“Ah,” Felix says, his eyes lighting up. “Electricity?”

She nods. They’d discussed machinery and electrical power on one of her first visits, when he’d noticed her cellphone and nearly ruined it with his perma-wet hands.

“That’s right. I don’t have the- the right tool- to help with the heat.”

The float bobs deceptively low in the water. They both watch it for a few focused seconds, but then it stills once more. Byleth’s shoulders droop; Felix relaxes back against the pier again, exhaling.

“I see,” he muses. “My people use magic.”

She knows. She knows because it’s the answer to every question she’s asked about undersea life. 

Do you have technology like what I’ve described? _No. We have tools and spells_. 

How are they powered? _Magic_. 

How does it work? _I don’t know. I’m not a mage_.

She’d left it at that, unsure how to continue, and then gotten a dose of her own medicine when Felix had started asking about electricity generation. Eventually she’d had to give him a similar answer: _I don’t know; I’m not an engineer_.

Her phone buzzes in the tackle box, rattling all the hooks and bearings and making them both jump. She quickly passes the fishing pole to Felix - he holds it carefully, keeping his claws away from the line - and scrambles down the pier.

\---

**Claude 7:23**

still alive?

**Me 7:23**

afaik

**Claude 7:23**

wanna grab breakfast?

**Claude 7:23**

since you woke me up and all

**Me 7:24**

sure, let me pack up. meet you on campus at 10?

**Claude 7:24**

you need two and a half hours to get ready?

**Claude 7:25**

teach you live like ten minutes from campus

**Claude 7:27**

teach? 

\---

Byleth switches her phone to silent mode and stuffs it back in the box, grumbling under her breath.

“Long-distance communication,” Felix guesses, smiling in satisfaction when she nods again. He hands the fishing pole over, voice sharpening to taunt, “Our methods are much more efficient.”

She rolls her eyes; if he’s feeling feisty enough to pick fights again, he’s probably almost ready for round six.

“Magic, yeah?” Byleth asks, plopping down next to him again and checking the tension on her line. “You know, one of these days I want a more detailed answer.”

He laughs, a short, breathy sound that makes her stomach clench. “Why? We’re fighters; our knowledge is for killing.” She’s corrected him on that point several times, but it seems difficult for him to retain.

Byleth observes his amusement with a tiny smile of her own, but a heavy bob on the float draws her attention away. With an expert tug, she’s hooked something; it thrashes in the water, too small to meaningfully resist the pull of her reel, and slowly draws closer to the pier.

She reaches under to grab it by the gills and comes up with an adult butterflyfish about half the size of her forearm. Not bad, but not edible. She tosses it to Felix, who’s been waiting with an eager expression since the float went down.

He catches it and bites off its head in one fluid motion, teeth sawing through flesh and a trickle of blood running down his chin. It’s not the first time she’s seen him do this, but the sudden, limp flop of the fish’s body is still a little jarring.

“That’s never not going to be weird,” she says dryly, frowning not only at the display, but at how attractive he is even while wholesale devouring a living creature. _What is wrong with me_?

He smirks and drops the rest of the fish down his throat.

“This makes three times,” he says, wiping his mouth off on the back of his hand. “Three hunts.” He states it like it’s significant, like it’s a milestone of some sort.

Byleth blinks, winding up her line and setting the pole aside so she can think better. Recalling other times she’s caught inedible fish and given them to Felix - yeah, it _is_ three. “You’re right,” she agrees casually. “Do you like it that much? I can save you a catch more often.”

He seems inordinately pleased at this, diverting his gaze almost shyly from hers. A twinge of worry runs through Byleth; the gesture is unbelievably cute, but she can’t help but wonder if she’s missed something important about their exchange. 

He looks up at the back wall of the cove in contemplation. The rising sun hasn’t quite crested its jagged heights; its uneven shadow is still a foot or so past the end of the pier, shrouding most of their refuge.

“Felix?” She prompts after a few quiet moments, as he still hasn’t answered her question. But instead of speaking, he simply shakes his head, eyes fixed resolutely on that shadow’s slow journey toward the beach.

This is probably another one of those cultural barriers, she thinks, deciding to be patient and let him explain in his own time. He will; he always does, no matter how odd he’s acting.

Finally, after several minutes’ wait, daylight touches the end of the pier. Felix hums and pushes off of it, beckoning for her to join him in the water.

“Come on,” he says, and dips beneath the surface.

( _Oh, boy_ , she thinks, remembering the time he’d dragged her out beyond the cove’s protection and she’d had to frantically explain that human legs did jack shit against a riptide.)

She takes a deep breath, hopes that he hasn’t forgotten how long she can hold it, and plunges in.

The sounds of Garreg Mach disappear; gulls’ cries, the rhythmic surf, and distant cars speeding along the highway are all instantly replaced by shallow water pressure, silent but omnipresent in her ears, waxing and waning with the waves that roll by overhead.

Felix is near the bottom of the pier’s supports, only around ten feet down, but against a backdrop of waterlogged wood, algae, and coral, it’s like he’s truly in a different world. His hair is suspended around him, long tendrils of black ink rippling like the seagrass below; his powerful tail works tirelessly to keep him steady in the drifting current, swaying back and forth like a rudder; the only adornments he wears, a string of sharp teeth around his neck and a sharkskin belt at his waist, lift gently from his skin every time he moves. He holds out a hand to her, so human but so _not_ , its translucent membranes stretching between his fingers.

Byleth is reminded again how strange this all is, how much stranger it _should_ be, but at the same time - does it matter? She’s asked herself this question many times over the past few months, and she asks it again as she takes his offered hand and lets him pull her deeper to the bottom.

 _No_ , she thinks upon seeing the excitement in his sunset eyes. _No it does not_.

He directs her to an alcove underneath the pier, a space between the supports that seems protected from tidal pull, and points out a stack of rocks.

She glances to Felix in confusion, but he just points more insistently, so she gives up and swims over to the structure.

Up close, it’s nearly half her height and composed entirely of smooth, erosion-worn stones that are mostly uniform in size and shape but widely ranging in color. They spiral upward from a sturdy base in a deliberate geometric pattern, culminating in a sphere of perfectly round, indigo sea glass at the top.

Rays of light from the surface catch and refract in the glass orb, washing its immediate vicinity in shining, dancing purple waves. The closer she gets, the more of the purple light paints her skin until every exposed inch is alive with luminous webbing.

It’s - _beautiful_. It’s like being inside one of those circular plasma lamps she sees at the boardwalk gift shops - like standing in front of an old projector, but without the blinding light and heat, only the wonder.

She looks back at him, grinning, and he’s watching her with such open fascination that she forgets where they are; it’s only when his expression turns to concern that she notices the bubbles leaking out of her mouth and nose and registers the burning sensation in her lungs.

Felix grabs her by the arms and ascends, snapping as soon as they breach, “Are you trying to _die_?”

She stares at him in shock, gasping for air, caught between explaining herself and enjoying the feel of his skin against hers - it’s slick but a little rough, just a slightly different texture from her own.

“Did you make that?” She asks instead, trying to glimpse the formation again beneath the waves. All she gets from here is a bit of distorted bluish light.

He huffs, “Of course I did,” and Byleth thinks that the image of this brusque man - _mer_? She’ll have to ponder that - performing such a delicate task will be burned into her brain forever.

But then his confidence falters. He lets her go, cutting his eyes nervously downward and asking more quietly, “Do you...know what it is?”

She hesitates. She doesn’t want to upset him, but she doesn’t want to lie, either. “I’m guessing,” she says carefully, flipping her wet hair out of her face, “that you made it for a specific reason?”

The remainder of his self-assured attitude drains visibly from his body, his crestfallen expression tugging directly on her heartstrings.

She opens her mouth to try to salvage the situation, but as soon as the sadness washes over him, it’s gone, replaced by something more familiar - anger.

He slaps the heel of his palm against his forehead, muttering darkly, “Why _would_ you know? I’m such a-” he winces like something’s just occurred to him, uncovering his eyes to fix her with an irritated glare, “-what was all the hunting about, then?”

Byleth glances to her pole, then back to him. “ _Fishing_ ,” she corrects, and not for the first time. “Do you mean the ones I gave you? They weren’t very good for eating, so-”

She stops dead in her tracks, asking warily, “Felix, did I do something rude by giving them to you?” He leans back, the tips of his pointed ears reddening, and she knows she’s made some sort of misstep. “I’m sorry if-”

“It’s fine,” he interjects roughly. “Don’t worry about it.”

Byleth purses her lips; she _is_ worried about it, though. “What does it mean? The fish, and- that?” She asks, gesturing down.

His tail thrashes back and forth anxiously. “Nothing.”

She squints at him, at his pinched frown and defensive posture, and decides that two can play this game. Without another word, she dives below, swimming back to the stone tower and plucking the glass orb from its apex.

When she surfaces again, Felix has blushed a rosy red from his face to the center of his chest, staring at the sphere in her hand with a pained expression.

“If it’s nothing, I’ll just take it,” she says sharply, hoping to provoke him into an explanation.

He makes a thin, strangled sound in the back of his throat and his hands curl into fists, clenching so tightly that a few drops of blood seep out from between his fingers.

“Byleth-”

“ _Felix_ ,” she challenges, lifting her chin in defiance.

He grits his teeth, sunlight glinting fiercely off their razor edges, and draws so near that his breath ghosts along her cheekbone. “Take it, then,” he rumbles, but there’s no wrath in it; his eyes are fiery slits, pupils dilated and - _oh_.

Before she can really process this new information, Felix is gone with a single, forceful flick of his tail. The water churns around her in his wake, nearly ripping her away from the pier, but she’s able to drag herself onto it while still keeping hold of the orb.

Her back hits the wood planks with a wet thud; she stares up at the sky, stunned, and she’s never been an expert in behavior, human or otherwise, but she’s pretty sure she knows what lust looks like.

\---

“Hey, finally! I was about to come find yo-” Claude’s sentence falls flat as he looks up from his phone, taking in her dripping, bedraggled state. “Teach. Why are you soaked?”

Byleth slogs up the remaining few stairs to her apartment, the contents of her tackle box - her phone, the orb, and the actual tackle - jangling around with each step. She looks up at Claude, who’s leaning against the wall outside her front door, impeccably groomed and chipper as always.

“I was hot,” she explains, reasoning that it’s not _entirely_ a lie.

His dark, perceptive eyes slide from her ruddy cheeks to her bare feet, then to the puddle of seawater gathering on the landing. “Uh-huh,” he drawls, returning to her face with a dubiously quirked eyebrow. “Maybe we should order in.”

To Claude’s credit, he keeps his suspicions in check until after she’s showered and the food arrives. She sees the curiosity burning just under his skin, though, present in every clipped syllable and almost-sentence that tumbles out of his mouth.

Finally, when they’re sitting on opposite ends of her long couch, legs folded, with an empty pizza box between them, he breaks.

“So what’s going on with you lately?” He asks, peeking at her over the top of his phone. He’s trying to act nonchalant, she knows, but he’s never been good at hiding concern for his friends.

Byleth looks up, grimly calculating the price of honesty in this moment.

_Merpeople are real, Claude, and I kind of want one of them to rail me. And he might be willing?_

A breath passes. Two.

“Haha,” she says instead, refreshing her Twitter feed. Yeah. No way that’s happening.

Claude snorts. “You know, it _still_ doesn’t count as a laugh if you just say ‘haha’ out loud with a creepy blank face.”

She shrugs. His foot stretches across the couch and taps her leg.

“Was that you saying nothing’s going on, or avoiding the question?” He’s still wearing his permanent, easy smile, but his eyes are serious. “You can talk to me, Teach.”

Byleth chews on her bottom lip, regarding him with a concentrated frown. There’s got to be a way she can onboard him into her dilemma, she thinks, without revealing too much. So, of course, the hypothetical question she comes up with is:

“Would you fuck a centaur?”

It’s solid in her mind; it uses a different mythological creature, but deals with the same issue. Claude slowly lowers his phone, revealing a bewildered but intrigued grin.

“Okay, not what I was expecting, but I can work with it,” he says, resting one arm behind his head and getting more comfortable. “First, I need some context.”

She draws her knees up to her chin and wraps her arms around them, nodding for him to proceed.

“Do I _love_ the centaur?”

Byleth spits out a surprised, "What?”

He leans forward, insisting, “It’s an important piece of information! Do I love the centaur, and do they love me?”

A chain of memories rises in which she and Felix are just sitting on the pier, talking about everything and nothing, laughing at each other’s societal norms and discussing various fighting styles.

“Uh- yes,” she says, looking away with a wobbly, embarrassed slant to her mouth. “And maybe. But they’re down to fuck.” _Probably_.

Claude drops back onto his arm, smirking. “Then, yeah, in a heartbeat.”

“Really?” Byleth tilts her head on her knee, clenching and unclenching her toes on the cushions. “Even though you don’t really know what’s going on there, like, anatomically?”

“Totally. I’m in love; I’ll figure it out. Plus, they can just tell me how it all works.”

She freezes. There _is_ that, isn’t there?

“Hey, Teach, is this a really, really roundabout way of telling me you met someone?” Claude’s circled back to concerned, taking in her expression. “Because you could’ve just said that. I’m not going to judge you, even if it’s Lorenz.”

He pauses for a moment. “It’s not Lorenz, right?”

Byleth shakes her head vehemently. “No. But I did...meet someone.”

“And they’re not a centaur, either, I hope?”

Her mouth flattens to a thin line. “Nope. Not a centaur.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> claude and byleth simultaneously find out their best friend is a monsterfucker: the saga


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (5/13/20) I redid several parts of this chapter today! The pacing, content, and general flow should be better now! (protip: don't do 'final edits' after being awake for 24 hours!!)

\---Part 1: Felix---

The path from Faer Cove to Kingdom waters is an easy swim, just a jaunt down the coast and over the continental shelf, then straight into a downwelling. It’s a trip Felix has made a thousand times since childhood, long before Byleth started showing up, and one he could probably make backwards or blindfolded at this point.

But today he’s clumsy; he nearly crashes into three different rocks on his way, and only realizes he’s overshot Fraldarius territory after narrowly dodging a fourth. He spills out of the current, spouting a colorful string of curses that only elongates when he catches the scent of the Gautier border.

Disheveled and annoyed, he starts back toward home in a burst of bubbles. At least on the floor he can control his speed and better avoid obstacles - which is good, because there’s Byleth in his mind again, taking his offering from its pedestal with her dark teal hair streaming behind her, _completely_ ignorant of the things she’s doing to him.

Felix groans and flips onto his back as he swims, dragging both hands down his face at the memory. He’s an idiot. An _idiot_ . Of course she doesn’t know what any of it means; where would she have learned? All those times he thought she was being coy - she was just being _human_.

A human with absolutely no idea how close he’d come to bending her over the pier. 

It’s a damn good thing she hadn’t dipped below the surface again, either, or else she would’ve received a pretty abrupt inter-species anatomy lesson. Even now he can feel himself twitching at the image of her holding the offering to her ample chest, staring up at him with those wide indigo eyes, her lips slightly parted and - _shit, not now. Stop, stop, stop_ -

He leads himself on a torturous mental loop of accidental arousal and furious suppression until he’s safely back within his own territory, so thoroughly preoccupied that, as he tries to flit quickly into the passage that leads to his residence, he slams directly into Sylvain instead.

“ _Ow_ \- in a hurry, huh?” Sylvain asks, moving aside and rubbing at his collarbone. “Did it go that well with your human?”

Felix grunts and cradles his nose. “Shut up,” he mumbles, pushing past his friend. This is the _last_ thing he needs right now.

But Sylvain is undaunted, following Felix through the gap in the cliffside and into a comfortable living space. “What happened? Did she reject your offering?”

Felix glances back over his shoulder, scowling, and sees that Sylvain won’t be easily dissuaded. Eventually, with a drawn-out sigh, he lets his posture sag and relents, “She didn’t even know what it _was_.”

“Aw, buddy,” Sylvain says with an empathetic grimace. He drifts down onto the soft floor of woven grass - settling in for a long talk, it seems, even though Felix has invited him to do no such thing.

“Well, you know, spawning season’s just around the corner, if you want to get in on that this year-”

“No- Sylvain- _listen_ ,” Felix hisses, swimming restlessly from one wall to the other, scattering the tiny crustaceans that live in their crevices. “She didn’t know what it was, but she still-” he heats up again at the mere mention of the act, “-took it.”

Sylvain’s inane suggestions promptly die on his lips. He puts a hand to the side of his face, tilting his head into it, and asks gravely, “Right in front of you?”

“-Yes.” Felix faces away, unwilling to show Sylvain whatever stupid expression he’s wearing - and it _is_ stupid; he can feel the corners of his mouth turning upward against his wishes.

“Damn,” Sylvain whispers. “That’s kind of hot.”

Felix bangs his forehead heavily against the stone wall. “ _I know_.”

Among the mer of the Kingdom, it’s customary to present one’s courtship offering and then leave, giving one’s intended mate a polite amount of time to consider their answer. If they accept, they display the item in their home or on their body, effectively announcing their new status.

To accept the offering right then and there is - well, it’s not unheard of, but it’s certainly _forward_.

“Wait, wait, back up,” Sylvain says suddenly, “haven’t you guys already hunted together twice?”

Felix puffs up slightly at the mention. “Three times,” he says, but then his pride melts seamlessly into wrath and he demands, “Why didn’t you tell me that humans just- give each other food for no reason?”

“Ah, well-” Sylvain scratches lightly at his neck, “The humans I come across...we don’t do a lot of _talking_ -”

“Never mind,” Felix interjects, cursing his own inquiry.

“No, okay, there’s a fix for this,” Sylvain insists, circling around the room until the two are eye-to-eye. “You just have to figure out how _they_ court each other.”

Felix waits for him to continue, arms crossed and listening warily.

“Annette’s got a spell for visiting the surface. I use it all the time,” Sylvain explains easily, like it’s not an incredibly significant tool that their people use for reconnaissance and survival, “So we can just go up there and see the humans’ rituals for ourselves. Then, next time, _your_ human will understand your intentions. Yeah?”

It’s not the worst idea Sylvain’s ever proposed - but with his track record, that’s not saying much. Felix stills the stabilizing motions of his tail while he considers it, letting the current sway him gently back and forth.

He’s never worn a human shape before, never been interested in them like some of his peers were; Felix doesn’t even enjoy spending time with his _own_ people - with a few notable exceptions - preferring to live and hunt alone on the outskirts of his clan’s territory, uninterested in challenging his father for a dominant position.

Byleth is the first being he’s ever wanted to share this solitary life with, and he wants it so much it chokes him some nights.

“All right,” he finally decides, tempted, as he often is, by thoughts of her accepting him as a mate. “How will we blend in?”

An eager grin splits Sylvain’s face; he swishes his tail excitedly, stirring up the surrounding water. “Don’t you worry, I have an extra set of their drapings and everything,” he says confidently. “They love to gather on the beach after sunset and purposefully intoxicate themselves - we can start there.”

\---Part 2: Byleth---

They go to practice at noon, tossing each other across the mats like ragdolls with the rest of the Garreg Mach Golden Deer wrestling team. Thankfully, ever since Ignatz fainted during an outdoor workout, they get to do all their summer training in the air conditioned gym, so the experience is less sticky overall than last month.

Byleth didn’t pay much attention to the details when it happened - Seteth had rattled off something about medical liability - but she’s extra glad for the change today, as sleep deprived and flustered as she is.

“You look awful,” Hilda says afterward, taking a swig from her water bottle and then tossing it over. “I’m telling you: all these late nights aren’t good for your complexion.”

Byleth catches the bottle, squeezes it directly into her mouth, and throws it back hard, forcing Hilda to catch it with both hands. “Thanks,” she says flatly, tucking her gear bag under one arm.

“What she _means_ ,” Claude cuts in literally and figuratively, slinging an arm around Byleth’s shoulders and shooting Hilda a rigid smile, “is that you should come out with us tonight, Teach. Don’t just sit around in your stuffy apartment again.”

Byleth makes a low sound of protest and pushes him off. “You know I don’t like bars.”

The three exit the gym, groaning in unison as the midday sun bears down on their heads and the glass doors swing shut behind them.

“It’s not a bar, it’s a thing on the beach. You like the beach,” Claude informs her, and Byleth’s eyes slide over to him, one eyebrow raised. “Come on, it’ll be fun!”

Hilda comments airily, “Don’t fall for it; he’s just hunting down Mystery Man again.”

Two pairs of eyes snap in Claude’s direction, cold and judgmental.

“I thought you were ‘totally over him’ last Harpstring,” Byleth says, air-quoting for emphasis. She remembers his supremely enigmatic one-night-stand from the beginning of the spring semester - how it had taken him a whole month to stop looking for the guy and _three_ to stop talking about it.

“Wow, I _am_ ! Way to bring up my past trauma,” Claude sputters, cheeks darkening as he lifts his bag and uses it to break line of sight. “Anyway! I only invited you so you could bring _your_ mystery person!”

Hilda, who’d leaned forward to get an ideally scathing angle on Claude, now swings her head toward Byleth with stars in her eyes. “Oh my Goddess. You _,_ too? Please tell me you at least walked away with their name, though,” she says pointedly, and Claude flinches.

“It’s not like Claude’s _encounter_ ,” Byleth says, getting a snort out of Hilda, “I know his name, and I’ve been meeting him for a while, but we’re not-” she pauses, looking down at her ratty sneakers. “I don’t know how to…”

She trails off into a frustrated silence, kicking a rock along the sidewalk.

“She doesn’t know how to ask him to smash,” Claude stage-whispers.

Byleth kicks the next rock at his shins; he dodges it with an impish giggle.

“Seriously? You just _ask_ ,” Hilda says like it’s nothing, like it’s not the most difficult social interaction Byleth’s ever navigated. Belatedly, she adds, “Wait, he hasn’t made a move on you? Like, at all? Are we sure he’s into women?”

Byleth laughs weakly, recalling Felix’s darkened eyes and strained tone. “Earlier there was - something. I don’t know,” she says, looking up at the sky. There’s still so much she doesn’t understand about him and his culture. “It could have been nothing.”

“Byleth,” Hilda deadpans. “If _you_ were picking up on it, it wasn’t nothing.”

There’s not much else she can say without incriminating herself, so Byleth just makes a moderately agreeable noise.

“Come to my house,” Hilda commands, linking their arms.

“Why?” Byleth asks as she jerks away. Both the question and the escape attempt are equally useless; Hilda’s stubbornness and arm strength are legendary.

“Because you need confidence, and we have the perfect opportunity to raise it,” Hilda says, turning her head in a tinkling flurry of earrings. “You are _criminally_ underselling yourself.”

\---

**Claude 7:53**

are you guys here yet??

**Me 7:54**

parking

**Claude 7:54**

i’ve been alone for half an hour

**Claude 7:54**

7:30 we said

**Claude 7:54**

how could you

**Me 7:55**

hair took a while

**Me 7:55**

and hilda wanted a smoothie

**Claude 7:56**

forsaken for a smoothie...

**Claude 7:56**

hurry up before someone thinks i’m a serial killer

\---

“Is he whining?” Hilda asks, craning her neck to see the texts and swirling the remnants of a chocolate strawberry smoothie in the bottom of a plastic cup.

“Yeah.” Byleth slips her phone back into her pocket. 

_Do you have one with pockets_? She’d asked dubiously when presented with an array of short, form-fitting dresses, each with some sort of cut-out in the chest area.

To this, Hilda had simply scoffed and picked up the one on the end, the one Byleth is currently wearing, and thrown back: _What kind of girl do you think I am_?

It’s short-sleeved, entirely black, and ends just above her knee, but any potential modesty is negated by its tightness and the open slash across its torso, showing a wide stripe of her sternum and the tops of her breasts.

“I still think you should text your guy,” Hilda muses as they stride down the boardwalk. She’d bemoaned the location of the party, opting for flats on both of them instead of heels, but Byleth is grateful; wearing this revealing outfit is hard enough without the added difficulty of balance.

Hilda glances over, smiling again at her work, and goes on, “Nobody in their right mind could resist you in _this_.”

 _Maybe so_ , Byleth thinks, her eyes straying to the ocean, its night-black waves lapping gently at the shore. _But he’s currently unreachable_.

“Thanks again,” she says instead, hoping to steer Hilda to a different topic. “It’s weirdly comfortable.”

“Right?” Hilda perks up, bouncing a little on her next step. “Honestly, you can have it. Your tits are devastating right now.”

Byleth’s mouth twists up into something unidentifiable; before she has to somehow answer that comment, though, Hilda’s waving and sprinting ahead.

“Hey! Claude!” She calls, jogging toward him at an impressive speed given her similarly restrictive dress. Byleth has a rougher time of it, chained to a snail’s pace, but she makes it eventually.

“Took you long enough,” Claude says, patting the blanket he’s spread out on the sand. There are countless others like it in various colors and sizes, all ringed around a massive, roaring bonfire and sporting several people each.

Bassy house music thrums through the beach underneath them, originating at an impressive stereo system set up at a safe distance. People are dancing and probably have been since the sun went down; from this direction, they’re merely silhouettes twisting together between the blankets and the fire, casting long shadows on the sand.

Hilda flips him off and sits down, arranging her legs artfully to one side of her (Byleth tries to do the same, but doubts she’s captured the effect.) “Okay, what do we have to drink?”

Claude laughs and points to an array of coolers on the other side of the bonfire. “Shitty beer, as always, but I came prepared.” He holds up a bottle of whiskey to show it off, then looks to Byleth and nearly drops it. “Holy- _Teach_?”

“Yes?” Byleth accepts a glass from his shaking hand, frowning as he fills it nearly halfway with the dark liquor. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” Claude says, recovering just as swiftly as he’d faltered. He finishes pouring and lodges the whiskey bottle in the sand next to their blanket, missing his target the first time. “You look good- you both look good.”

Hilda giggles, leaning over to whisper deviously, “ _Devastating_.”

“You should really send your mystery dude a picture of you. Right now,” Claude advises, taking a long drink of whiskey. “I’m not kidding,” he adds with a slow, disbelieving shake of his head.

Byleth sips from her own glass to buy herself time to answer. She watches the dancers and their shadows mingling, weathers another wave of - entirely unnecessary; it’s _high summer_ \- heat from the fire, feels the pulse of the already-too-loud music in her legs, and can’t help but wish she were at the cove instead.

“He doesn’t have a phone,” she replies, unsurprised by the suspicious glance her friends exchange. It _would_ be suspicious - for a human.

Claude’s brow furrows. Carefully, like he’s trying not to spook her, he asks, “How do you guys meet up, then?”

She’s damned it many times in the past, but right now, Byleth cherishes her chronically blank face. “Mostly by coincidence.”

“What?” Hilda practically squawks, angrily downing her drink like she needs the fortification, then she slaps her unoccupied hand on her knee in a cacophony of bracelets. “Is he _stalking_ you?”

Oh, man, it does probably look like that, doesn’t it? Byleth fidgets with the strap of her shoe; this is not how she’d foreseen the conversation going. “No, no - it’s nothing like that,” she deflects, but the nervous edge to her voice only amplifies their worried faces.

“Well, does he go to our school?” Claude asks.

Hilda whips out her phone. “Yeah, what’s his name? I can tell if someone is skeevy from, like, two pictures.”

“Uhh,” Byleth says, holding her glass like a shield. She’s prepared to answer maybe one of those questions, reaching around her brain for plausible lies. “His name is-”

A shadow falls over their blanket, much too close to belong to a dancer. Claude looks up, annoyed, but whatever snappy remark he’s prepared never makes it out of his slack, dumbfounded mouth.

“Byleth,” says a familiar and extremely out-of-place voice.

She raises her head, stalling out on the association because why would _he_ be here? _How_ could he be here? _Legs_? 

That last thought ricochets half-formed around her mind like an old computer’s screensaver, becoming less coherent with each pass.

“-Felix,” she says, eyes traveling the length of his very human body. He’s wearing a simple outfit - tight black jeans, a white button-down shirt, and no shoes - but it’s soaked through with seawater, clinging to his skin. His long hair is bound up at his neck, still wet and dripping down his back and into the sand, and his eyes glow like the bonfire as he stares down at her.

“Wait, is this the guy?” Hilda asks, looking back and forth between Byleth and Felix with a half-delighted, half-disturbed expression. “Was this another _coincidence_? Byleth!”

But her words fall on deaf ears; Felix holds out a webless, clawless hand, and Byleth takes it without hesitation, letting him pull her up. He looks her up and down the same way she’d just done to him, pausing noticeably at her waist and chest, before reaching her eyes.

“Why are you here?” He asks, genuinely curious, as if _she’s_ the humanoid sea creature.

Byleth can’t help it; she laughs, confused but thrilled to see him in this unfamiliar setting, and pushes lightly on his arm, retorting, “Why are _you_ here?”

Meanwhile, Claude has gone catatonic. He’s frozen with his glass halfway to his mouth as he stares wide-eyed at the man next to Felix, a tall redhead wearing similar clothing - and also wet.

“Ah,” Claude manages to enunciate, lacking any of his usual charm.

“Ah,” says the redhead, face brightening with recognition. “East Beach, high tide, Lone Moon, yeah?”

Hilda’s expression turns completely to anxiety. “ _Claude_ \- is this-”

“Mhm,” Claude confirms as he stands, abandoning his glass, the whiskey bottle, and Hilda on the blanket. “I, uh- I’ve got to go,” he says, wearing a slanted, mystified grin, and follows the redhead away.

Felix watches the scene with a sigh and a roll of his eyes, then says, “Research,” in answer to Byleth’s earlier question. He glances down at her again, then back toward the party like he’s contemplating something.

“Come with me,” he says, pulling her by the hand, and - like Claude - she’s too entranced to do anything but comply.

“For _real_?” Hilda demands, her incredulous voice fading with distance.

As they pass close to the speakers, that persistent, thumping beat grows stronger until it’s vibrating Byleth’s teeth, superseding her own heartbeat, and she’s relieved when they move away from it again; finally, Felix stops and turns around.

He’s led them to a relatively quiet pocket amidst the festivity, not too close to the fire or the speakers, and away from the densest gathering of blankets.

“... _How_ are you here?” She asks him, it being the foremost item in her mental queue. She’s still taking in his appearance, rubbing her thumb on the smooth skin of his hand, _terrified_ that this is some sort of whiskey-induced daydream.

He leans in close to her ear, breath tickling along it, and says, “Magic.”

When he draws back, he’s smiling at their shared joke, and she can’t help but smile along with him.

In her periphery, the redhead has pulled Claude directly into the ring of dancers, and now they sway along with all the others.

“That’s Sylvain,” Felix murmurs into her ear; she shivers involuntarily. “My friend. He brought me here.”

Byleth hums, pleased that Felix has friends other than her; in the back of her mind, she’d been afraid that he was like her before the university: alone.

“Claude,” she says, pointing him out where he’s plastered to Sylvain’s chest (Goddess, he has _no idea_ ), and then indicates a far-off pink spot on their original blanket. “And Hilda. My friends.”

Felix nods, observing the dancers again with a mildly perturbed frown. “Are they also here to find a mate? Your Claude might be disappointed.”

She opens her mouth to question that extremely odd choice of words, but then he’s pushing something cold and wet into her hand. Byleth looks down at the label of a crappy off-brand beer, views it numbly for a second, then notices that Felix has one, too, and is bringing it to his mouth.

“No, nope, stop,” she says quickly, swiping the bottle from him and setting them both on a nearby foldout table. “Don’t drink that. Trust me.” 

As she’s turning back to him, she continues cautiously, “And what did you mean by ‘find a mate?’ Do you know-” she gestures to the party around him, “-what this is?”

Felix cocks his head in the same way he does at fish and gulls when he’s trying to decide how best to catch them, when he’s analyzing their behavior and trajectory.

“A place for humans to court,” he says matter-of-factly, glancing to the side and subtly repositioning himself. Byleth follows his gaze to a couple - this area is full of couples, she realizes with a start - and, in a single moment of lucidity, she understands. 

She understands _a lot_.

The couple is standing almost exactly like Felix has posed her and himself, holding beer bottles and speaking lowly into each other’s ears. His eyes flick back to Byleth and he slides one hand around her waist to complete the mirror, pulling her into him.

Byleth could swear that she flatlines for a second; they’re almost chest to chest and her dress is getting wet, leaching water from his shirt. But what really kills her is when he gently pushes the hair out of her face and then trails those fingertips down her cheek and the side of her neck, watching their path like it’s a novelty - and it is, she supposes, since he’s used to having claws, but it’s also driving her _crazy_.

“Felix,” she says, grabbing his hand with her own to keep it still and holding it against her collarbone. Her heart is hammering; he _must_ be able to feel it.

His eyes rise to hers, then fall to her mouth, and then lower to where their hands are joined - and then lower. “What?” He asks absently, and his other hand presses against the small of her back, urging their bodies closer together.

“Are you trying to-” She swallows hard, preparing herself for the answer, “-court me?”

Irritation flashes across his face. He looks back to the other couple, examining them like maybe he’s missed something, and makes minute adjustments to the way he’s standing.

Byleth laughs softly; this is so _him_. Even in such a telling circumstance, he prefers action over explanation.

“Look at me,” she prompts, and he does; his eyes are blown almost black again, focused and narrow. She slowly raises his hand from her neck to her lips, then presses them to each knuckle, never breaking eye contact. Seawater still beads along his skin; her tongue darts out to taste it and he shudders. 

“Is this what you want?” She asks, barely speaking, barely moving; only watching for his reaction. He’s showing her his interest, but she wants to hear him say it - and he doesn’t disappoint.

The sound that tears from his throat in reply is harsh, ragged, and instant, followed by a low, “ _Yes_ ,” and it’s all the confirmation she needs to pull him down by the shirt collar and mold their mouths together.

Byleth has never kissed anyone before - never wanted to until recently - and she’s always had the vague impression that it would be humid and uncomfortable, but he’s so soft; his lips glide smoothly along hers, tentative and careful, and she’s excited to think that maybe _he’s_ never done this before, either. 

It’s easy at first, exploratory, and they ripple together like waves; he slides one hand to her hip and the other to the nape of her neck, tangling his fingers in her hair, and she smooths hers up his chest to hold onto his shoulders. 

They exchange a gentle pressure until Felix grows impatient and licks along her lower lip, and then Byleth retaliates by nipping at him. Both pause and open their eyes for just a moment, just long enough to confirm that _yes, this is a challenge_ \- he smirks against her - and then it’s not soft anymore. 

They meet again open-mouthed and wanting, tongues hot and unyielding and hands grasping at fabric. Up close like this, his sea-salt tang is all she can smell, all she can taste, mixing with the whiskey’s lingering woodsmoke in her mouth, and she’s overwhelmed. She expected the salinity but not the fireworks on the backs of her eyelids, not the tremor that follows his hand up her spine or the static where her thoughts should be. 

Felix tugs her head back by her hair to delve into her more deeply and she’s lost, drifting, making high, breathy sounds that spur him on. He crushes their bodies together insistently, his other hand a searing, roaming presence on her back, traveling downward.

It’s only when his fingers sharpen at her hip - _really_ sharpen, too piercing to be fingernails - that she freezes and pulls back. They’re both tousled and breathing heavily, glassy-eyed as they look down at the absolutely inhuman webbed hand that clutches at Byleth’s waist, the points of its claws poking five tiny holes in the black cloth.

“Oh,” she says, the implications dawning on her in horrific slow-motion. ‘ _He’s under a spell_ ’ becomes ‘ _that spell is wearing off_ ,’ which then quickly, alarmingly becomes ‘ _we are surrounded by other humans_.’

Felix is also awakening to the gravity of his situation, his dazed expression clearing. He regards her with something like regret, inhaling like he’s going to speak, but she does it for him.

“We need to go,” she rasps, licking her lips and looking past him to the shifting crowd of people on this stretch of beach. It’s awful to step away from him, to lose that heat and contact, but his safety is more important. “You don’t have much time, right?”

He tears his eyes away from her mouth with some effort, saying in a hoarse voice as reluctant as she feels, “-Yeah. An hour, probably.”

Byleth scans down the beach in both directions, dismayed at the high population. It’s summer; there will probably be people on most beaches for the next several hours, at least. She takes him by the (human) hand and heads back toward the ring of dancers, searching for Sylvain.

“It’s too crowded on the beaches,” she says, deciding not to sugarcoat it. “And we won’t make it to the cove in an hour.”

Felix grunts. “Yeah.”

She spots a shock of bright red hair and grabs Sylvain by the arm; after a stunned moment, he seems to understand and comes willingly, leaving Claude with a grin and a wink.

“Spell’s wearing off?” Sylvain guesses as they run, appraising Felix in one glance. “I told you, dude, you should have built up some tolerance first.”

“Shut up,” Felix growls. “If you hadn’t-”

“Hey,” Byleth interrupts. “No time. I’m taking you both to my apartment- ah, my home,” she amends. “You’ll be safe there, even if the spell ends.”

Felix nods curtly; she’s explained bathrooms to him before, and her meaning seems to click. He looks to Sylvain and expounds, “Too many humans on the beaches. She’s right.”

“Oh, sure,” Sylvain says casually, “that’s much better than killing a few on our way out.”

Byleth’s out front of their line of three, leading them to the boardwalk, so the other two don’t see the way her eyes bulge out of her head. _One thing at a time, Byleth; one thing at a time_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> happy mermay! <3
> 
> (edit 6/14/20) [ribelle](https://twitter.com/ribelle0804) has blessed us with [this amazing art](https://twitter.com/ribelle0804/status/1271826402757632001/photo/1)!!

The front door of Byleth’s apartment slams shut behind them.

She leans against it, letting her head thunk back on the cold metal, and a long, relieved sigh puffs out of her lungs.

“We made it,” she wheezes, clutching at a stitch in her side. She hasn’t done a sprint like that in years and her shoes were _not_ suited for it; her feet ache brutally and all she wants to do is collapse onto the nearest surface, but this trial’s not over yet.

She grabs her phone to check the time: it’s almost nine. If Felix’s estimation was correct, they have a little over ten minutes left until the magic ends.

“You don’t look so good,” Sylvain says, lightly concerned, as he inspects her from the living room. “If it helps, I was just kidding about the ‘killing humans’ thing.”

Byleth raises her head, blowing a lock of hair out of her face, and regards him dryly. It actually does help - she hadn’t relished the thought of Claude’s fun little epithet for the cove being true - but Sylvain is taking this whole thing much less seriously than she would like.

“How long do _you_ have?” She asks, having gleaned Felix’s predicament on their journey: _his_ spell is fading early because of a general inexperience with magic, while Sylvain is more accustomed to its effects.

“At least another hour, I think,” Sylvain says, looking up like he’s doing mental calculations.

“Good.” Byleth takes Felix by the arm and starts down the hallway. “Come help me with him, then.”

Felix, who’s been fixated on the orb where it sits on her kitchen windowsill, lets her pull him along. At the threshold to her bedroom, though, he pauses, inhaling deeply and curling his claws around the frame.

“Uhh, that’s where you sleep, right?” Sylvain asks, hovering at the mouth of the hall. Byleth turns, but he’s not watching her; she follows his eyes to Felix, who’s baring his sharp teeth and blocking the doorway with his body.

“Yeah. You’re on your own with that.” Sylvain chuckles, shaking his head. “Don’t worry about me; I’ve been in an ‘apartment’ before.”

The way he says the word, like it’s an unfamiliar bit of vocabulary, doesn’t inspire confidence. Byleth takes a breath, wants to warn him not to touch anything, but Felix makes a low, reverberating sound in his chest and closes the bedroom door.

“We don’t need him,” he mutters.

 _Is this some kind of territorial- whatever_ , she thinks firmly, continuing on to her master bathroom and resolving to ask about it later. Instead she focuses on the present issue, flipping the lights on and running the faucet in the bath.

“What temperature should the water be? Do I need to add anything to it?” She asks, tossing a glance back over her shoulder.

Felix’s gaze snaps to hers, but it was definitely on her backside before, focused on where she’s bent over the tub. “Hm?” He seems to catch up with her words, then adds, “Oh. Right,” and joins her at the faucet.

Byleth purses her lips to hide a smile.

“It smells strange,” he says, wetting one hand in the flow and bringing it to his nose. She’s about to make an offhand comment about treatment chemicals, but then his tongue snakes out to lick his palm and Byleth’s brain turns to mush.

She’s never seen it fully before - only caught glimpses as he devoured her gifts of fish - but right now there’s nothing blocking her view. It’s about twice as long as hers and tapered toward the end, glistening under the fluorescent lighting; he notices her staring and slowly draws it back behind a teasing smirk.

Byleth clears her throat, trying to work past the idea of that tongue in her mouth - on her neck - _everywhere_. “Does it need- uh- I have sea salt,” she stammers, tripping over thought fragments, and Felix looks entirely too smug about it.

“This will serve for a time,” he says, scrutinizing the temperature knobs and twisting them until the water runs a bit colder. “I can adapt. What’s your plan?”

 _Of course_ . _The plan_. She straightens up and puts some space between them, reminding herself sternly that this is a precarious situation. “The beaches should be empty in a few hours - around the time I usually come to see you,” she says, turning away from him (for her own sanity.) “Will you be okay until then?”

In the corner of her eye, Felix stands and starts popping the buttons of his shirt. “Yes, that length of time is fine, but-” he shrugs out of it and drops it to the floor, “-you realize I won’t be able to walk anymore, right?”

He goes to unfasten his jeans and Byleth immediately glues her eyes to the ceiling. “I’m stronger than I look,” she says, struggling to keep her voice steady. “I’ll carry you to the cove.”

There’s another wet plop as his jeans join his shirt on the floor, and then he’s behind her at the vanity with both hands on her hips. “I know how strong you are,” he affirms, nosing at the skin just beneath her ear.

He leans farther over her shoulder, laughing softly at the odd tilt of her head, and brings one hand up to her jaw. “Is that the whole plan?” He asks, coaxing her chin in his direction with the lightest grasp of claws.

She doesn’t fight it, exhaling slowly when their eyes meet; he’s self-assured and inquisitive, unbothered by his own nudity, and suddenly Byleth can’t remember why she was trying to avoid this.

“Yes,” she breathes, leaning toward him.

“Good,” he says with a half-lidded gaze, and then, more quietly, instructs her, “Open your mouth.” When she obeys, he plunges that long tongue into it and seals his lips to hers.

Byleth collapses back against him with a surprised whimper, unprepared for the way it fills her mouth and entwines with her own tongue; for the force of his hands on her stomach and neck; for the twitch of something heavy and hard trapped between them, pressing into her back.

It’s entirely different from their earlier kiss. His skin has returned to its rougher, textured state, and his pointed teeth occasionally graze her, but the new sensations only excite her further; she wants him as he _is_ , not as a magicked facsimile of a human.

She reaches both arms up and frees his hair of its tie, carding her fingers through his dark, silky locks like she’s always wanted to do. He takes advantage of the extra space by moving his hands - one down, one up - to cup her breasts over her dress, claws puncturing the fabric.

Byleth arches up into the touch and he makes a low, appreciative sound that rumbles out of his throat and into hers. He breaks the kiss to lick a hot line up her neck, simultaneously pinching a nipple between his thumb and forefinger; she covers her mouth just in time to muffle a high whine-

And they both jump when lukewarm water rushes over their bare feet. 

She looks down at it, frowning, then over to where the tub is overflowing, and then lets her head fall back against Felix’s shoulder with a breathless, exasperated laugh that he echoes.

“The magic,” she recalls, voice thick with arousal, and grudgingly disentangles their limbs for the second time tonight.

His intense gaze is almost enough to break her resolve; when he swipes the tip of his tongue along his bottom lip, she inhales shakily and lowers her eyes - right to his unabashed erection, flushed and leaking, and that does _not_ help.

“The magic,” he agrees, but she can’t help but notice that his hands are back at her waist, thumbs kneading hard circles over her hip bones.

When she looks up, he’s watching her intently, grip tightening by degrees.

“Felix,” she whispers, half-plea, half-complaint. “I have to go help Sylvain.”

He hums like he doesn’t like that, doesn’t agree, and pulls her back with him toward the bathtub, tilting her chin up for another kiss - which she dodges, pressing her lips chastely to the corner of his mouth instead.

“I’ll be back soon,” she promises with a parting laugh at his indignant face, dancing out of the way of his grasping hands. “Get in the water!”

\---

**Claude 8:27**

where did you go? how do you know that guy?

**Claude 8:29**

teach are you coming back?

**Claude 8:34**

ok i need to know where you are. please

**Claude 8:35**

i have to meet him again, yes this IS an emergency

**Claude 8:41**

TEACH

**Me 8:58**

sorry. will explain later

\---

Byleth stumbles down the hallway, inwardly apologizing to Claude for ignoring him for so long and not even daring to open a deluge of capitalized expletives from Hilda. She’ll have to think of a way to make this up to them; with all the secrets and the abandonment, it won’t be easy.

Sylvain is in her kitchen with his arms crossed, studying the glass orb on her windowsill. He turns at her arrival and takes in her freshly rumpled state with a wry smile.

“It’s perfect,” he comments, lifting one finger to point at the orb. “Completely unblemished. I knew he was looking for a while, but- damn.”

She joins him on the cheap linoleum, wet feet slapping across it. “He wouldn’t tell me what it was,” she says, admiring the moonlight trapped in its refractive depths. “But it is. Perfect, I mean.”

His brown eyes are pensive when she looks up, like he’s debating something internally, and his smile has grown stiff. They stand for a few moments in silence before he speaks, “It means he wants you as a mate.”

Byleth’s fingers freeze on the cold glass. The only examples she has of the word are from nature documentaries - her memory provides various clips of brightly-colored tropical birds dancing and singing for each other.

“Like...for breeding?” She asks. She’s never thought about having children; her own childhood had rather put her off of the notion.

Sylvain laughs. “With a human? Impossible. We mate for lots of reasons, but mostly it’s to form a bond with someone we love - do you have anything like that?”

More images flash in her mind: church bells, white dresses, flower petals.

“Yeah,” she says, blood rushing to her face. She looks on the orb with new eyes and takes it gingerly into her hands.

“Byleth, right?” Sylvain asks, tone softening from its earlier glibness. “I know it must be weird for you, but-” he pauses, grimacing like he’s not used to this level of sincerity, “-I’ve never seen Felix like this before. With anyone. So, even if you don’t accept his offering- just don’t hurt him. Okay?”

Byleth nods, cradling the sea-glass against her chest and staring blankly down the hallway. “I like him, uh, a lot,” she says lamely as the other word sticks to her tongue. To distance herself from Sylvain’s knowing smile, she heads toward her spare bathroom in a burst of foot-slaps.

She hastily shows him how to control the volume and temperature of the bathwater, then lays out her master evacuation plan.

“I’m very strong,” she explains to his doubtful expression.

Sylvain, with one hand under the faucet and the other propping up his chin, just shrugs. “Okay, well, won’t be the weirdest way I’ve gotten home.”

Satisfied, she turns to leave, but hesitates outside the door. “Sylvain,” she says, and he looks up. “My friend, Claude - the one you were dancing with - he really likes you.” She watches his eyes, the care and guilt that mix in them, and adds, “So please don’t hurt _him_ , either.”

\---

She pads back to her room like a thief in the night, irritated at her own shyness. He’s already signaled his interest in her - clearly, several times - and so has she, but-

Her eyes fall to the orb and her cheeks heat up again. It changes things; it’s a commitment, a confirmation that his interest goes beyond the physical, just like hers.

And that’s...kind of terrifying.

 _You can do this_ , she encourages herself, and shuts her bedroom door.

Felix has fully reverted to his original form, reclining in the tub with his back resting against the tile wall. Even so, he’s too long to fit comfortably inside; the forked end of his blue-black tail hangs off the opposite lip, nearly touching the floor.

He’s beautiful. She often thinks so, especially in these short moments when she gets to observe him unannounced, but tonight, relaxed in her home, with his eyes closed and his hair spilling over his shoulders, she’s never been more struck by it.

“Going to stare all night?” He asks, cracking his eyes open to smirk at her, but then he sees the orb and goes quiet, honing in on it.

Byleth wordlessly traverses the wet floor and sits on the edge of the bath, then lowers the orb to her lap. She considers it for a long moment, building the courage to act, then says quietly, “Give it to me again.”

He looks from her to it, opening his mouth like he’s going to question her, but she shakes her head. She’s not leaving any room for him to doubt, this time.

“Give it to me again,” she repeats, pushing the orb into his hands; they’re cold and unstable, just like hers - nervous, just like her.

He hesitates for another few seconds, jaw clenched and working, but then - slowly, deliberately - he rotates his hand so that he’s presenting the glass to her palm-up. His eyes, usually so keen and confident, are open, unguarded, his lips slightly parted as he awaits her response.

Byleth doesn’t make him wait long. Just as cautiously, she reaches out and brings it back across the gap, resting it once more against her heart, holding his gaze the entire time.

Felix comes along like it’s magnetized, stopping inches from her face and hovering there, so hopeful but so unsure. “Do you-” his voice, thick and yearning, breaks, and he stares at her helplessly.

“Sylvain told me,” she confesses with a reassuring smile.

An incredulous laugh punches out of his throat; he cradles her cheek with one trembling hand, mouth pulling into a faint, awestruck smile, and leans forward to kiss her. 

It’s feather-light, just a brush of his lips against hers as he takes the orb from her and sets it gently on the bath mat. The action is so tender, so affectionate, that it takes her a moment to notice the glint of mischief in his eyes - but by then, it’s too late.

His fingers curl around her midsection and then, with an ominously amused grin, he yanks her bodily into the bath. 

It’s a complete ambush. She topples over in a flailing pile of limbs, landing hard on his chest and splashing more water all over the already-soaked room; he’s howling with laughter at the same time he’s catching her by the forearms to stabilize her.

“ _Felix_ !” She yelps, unable to help the contagious grin that spreads across her own face. She’s completely drenched and her dress sticks uncomfortably to her skin, but she doesn’t care - she doesn’t _care_ \- all the windows in her apartment could blow out and she’d still just want to watch him laugh.

“What?” He asks, pulling them both up into a sitting position. “Aren’t you the one always telling me not to leave myself open?”

“That’s not-” she protests, but then her knees slip to either side of his tail and it pushes up between them - and the rest of her sentence morphs into a startled moan.

She freezes. Felix’s eyes go wide and then dark. 

They look at each other for a charged, quiet moment, filled only with their quick breaths and the echoing drip of water off the ends of her hair. His hands slide from her arms to her waist and he gives a slow, experimental roll of his hips; again, his tail glides smoothly between her legs, providing an uninterrupted line of stimulation everywhere she needs it and sloshing water over the side of the tub. 

She shudders and moans again, quieter this time, and braces her hands on his shoulders. “Felix,” she whispers brokenly, and it’s like a switch flips in his eyes, taking them from analytical to hungry in an instant.

He grinds her down hard against him, answering her needy whine with a groan. “-Can you come like this?” He asks, bunching the tight material of her dress around her waist.

The scant lace of her underwear seems to confuse and annoy him; with the flick of a claw, he slices through them and tosses the scraps away, staring at where he slides along her center.

Shivering from the sudden exposure, she rasps, “Easily.”

(She really should be upset about this, but his casual ferocity is so _incredibly_ hot that she can’t object.)

“Do it, then,” he tells her, and with that he starts moving in earnest, setting a measured pace that has her shifting up and down his tail in an undulating wave. Her mouth falls open; he fills it with his tongue, greedily drinking in her thin sounds.

Byleth holds onto his shoulders for dear life, overwhelmed by the constant, perfect contact, and she’s already so wound up that it isn’t long before a familiar pressure starts building low in her belly. She breaks the kiss to murmur, “Faster,” against his lips, and he obliges her, quickening his tempo and pulling her down by the hips to meet each crest forcefully.

The water is churning and spilling noisily at this point, her knees bumping into the bottom of the tub, but the only sensation that’s real to her is the line of his tail, the clutch of his hands - and soon her peak breaks upon her like a storm-swell, and just as powerful. 

She shakes and gasps against him, digging her fingernails into his skin until he hisses; he watches her ride out her pleasure with a captivated expression, supporting her waist after her legs give, slowing and stopping his movements when she winces.

In the numb, prickling stillness of her afterglow, he gently pushes the wet hair out of her face and smiles. She returns it lazily, nuzzling into his palm, and presses a kiss to his thumb - and then registers a slick, solid presence jutting into her thigh.

Still dazed, she reaches down to touch it - and jumps when it throbs in her hand. Felix makes a strangled, guttural sound and _oh, this is his_ -

Byleth turns her eyes downward, along the slope of his fair chest and the plane of his abdomen where it fades into his tail, then a little farther down to a long, dark shape that protrudes from an opening she’s pretty sure wasn’t there before.

She recognizes its general appearance - it’s kind of hard to misconstrue a phallus, she thinks; they’re pretty universal - but not its details. Instead of having distinct segments, it’s a single, mono-colored organ (a midpoint hue between the peach of his skin and the near-black of his scales) coated in a clear, viscous fluid.

Delicately, she wraps one hand around it, savoring the soft whimper Felix lets out in response; she pumps that hand from the base to the tip and he _growls_ , thumping the end of his tail against the outside of the tub.

“-Byleth,” he says in a voice like gravel, lowering his head to mouth at her neck and huffing in frustration when he meets the collar of her dress. Much like earlier, he hooks a claw inside it and tears it cleanly in half - amid the ripping of fabric, Byleth thinks she might have discovered a very expensive kink tonight, because the sight makes her clench around nothing.

“Let me see you,” he pleads, licking down the newly bared juncture of her neck and shoulder. With another sharp pop, her strapless bra goes the way of her dress and underwear.

“Yes,” she whines, tilting her head to give him more access and exhaling harshly when he grazes his teeth along her skin. She closes her hand reflexively around his length; with a clipped grunt, he grabs her wrist.

He raises his head and shakes it. “Not yet,” he grinds out, then lifts her by the waist - she yelps; he grins - and urges her knees onto the edges of the tub.

Like this, he’s eye-level with her stomach, and he rests his chin on it as he pushes the ruined remnants of her dress off her shoulders, looking up at her in open adoration. “Let me touch you,” he says, and then when she nods, continues quietly, “Show me how.”

Byleth swallows hard. She’s already blushing from the intimacy of this position, but she slowly nods again, taking one of his hands and placing it on her breast. He squeezes, taking in the way her breath hitches as he brushes his thumb over her nipple. He repeats the motion, then circles one claw lightly around the stiff bud, eyes brightening at her sharp inhale.

“You liked that,” Felix observes, deep and sultry, as he replicates the pattern on her other breast. “What else do you like?”

She bites her lip - he’s _killing_ her - and moves his other hand between her spread knees, running the pad of his index finger through her folds and shivering when it touches her clit. “No claws,” she says with a cheeky smile.

He breathes a laugh, eyes glittering as he dips his head to press a kiss to the inside of her thigh. “No claws,” he agrees, and then licks a long stripe up her slit.

Byleth cries out in both pleasure and shock, hands returning to his shoulders for stability. He explores the area with the tip of his tongue, taking cues from her sounds on where to linger and how much pressure to apply, making low groans of his own when he discovers something she particularly enjoys.

“Here,” she chokes out, directing him to her entrance; he surges up into it enthusiastically and she fists her hands in his hair. His tongue reaches so _far_ , it’s so rough and lubricated at the same time, writhing against a place that makes her legs quiver violently - and then he starts working her clit with his finger and she’s falling over the edge again, mouth open in a soundless wail, bent forward and clinging to him like she’s about to die (and she might be.)

Felix knows when to stop this time, when to retract his tongue and slide up her body, pushing it into her mouth instead to kiss her through the aftershocks. She falls against him and he bears her weight, wrapping his arms around her and lowering her back into the tub, never breaking from her in the process.

They stay like that, kissing languidly, his hands smoothing up and down her back as her senses gradually return. When she has the strength, she pulls away, bracing her hands on his chest. He’s watching her proudly, petting at the ends of her hair, and it’s so _adorable_ that warmth and sentimentality come bubbling up out of her throat, but then-

“You _really_ liked that,” Felix declares, wearing a smirk like the ones he gets after beating her in a fight. Her emotional smile slants into disbelief; a spark of competition ignites in her gut.

Emboldened, she reaches down and grabs hold of his cock, leaning in close to his ear. “I did,” she whispers, stroking him and nipping at his jaw, “and now I’d really like you to fuck me.”

The effect is immediate. An inhuman snarl rips from his throat; his hands, so gentle on her back, fly to her hips and dig in - not enough to break the skin, but enough to make her flinch. 

He positions himself underneath her and catches her eyes. His own are intense and purposeful, his irises thin rings of amber around the voids of his pupils, and his tail strikes the tub - three times in quick succession, like he’s mentally preparing - before he sinks into her, burying himself to the hilt.

She sees _stars_. She’s never felt so full before; the slide is frictionless - Byleth’s come twice and he makes his own lubrication - but the stretch still has her hissing.

Felix gasps and holds her against him while they both acclimate, repositioning so that he can support her with his arms under her thighs. She sighs in relief as her knees lift off the porcelain, locking her ankles behind his back and her wrists around his neck.

“This what you wanted?” He growls, forced to look up at her from their new angle.

She gives him a tiny, victorious smile in return and simply says, “ _Exactly_.”

He pulses inside her, claws jabbing into the backs of her thighs, and huffs a laugh. “You’d better hold on, then,” he warns her, taunting, then he picks her up and slams her back down with a throaty hum.

She does - oh, she does - and she needs to; he sets a slow but demanding rhythm, snapping into her while he sucks and bites at her neck (and Byleth is _certain_ she’s getting at least one noise complaint out of this because her husky moans are filling the room, mixing together with his and bouncing off the tile walls.)

Every time he bottoms out, the wet, raised flesh around his base hits her just right. After two consecutive orgasms, it’s a jittery kind of pleasure - bordering on oversensitivity - but it still winds her up, especially when he increases his speed and starts panting desperately against her shoulder.

When his thrusts become erratic and his breaths heavier, he shifts her so that he’s holding her with one arm and slips the other between them, adding the pressure of his finger to her clit.

“Again,” Felix begs thickly, licking up her neck to her mouth. “With me- Byleth, please-”

He kisses her deeply and that’s it for both of them. This time she comes with tears pricking at the corners of her eyes, sobbing brokenly into his mouth and quaking uncontrollably; at the same time, his tail thrashes in the water and after a final, vigorous jerk of his hips, he spills inside her with a muffled cry.

Utterly exhausted, Byleth pulls back to rest her forehead against his, shivering through the aftermath while he regulates his breathing and rubs little circles into her sides. She feels wrung out, aching in the best possible way - and when she opens her eyes, Felix looks similarly sated. He’s smiling, swiping his thumb along her cheek, staring at her like maybe she’s not real, and Byleth’s heart is fit to burst.

“I love you,” she murmurs, taking one of his hands in both of hers and giggling at the instant, scarlet blush that spreads from his face to the top of his chest. “Your people don’t say that, do they?”

His smile turns indignant. “I already- I _did_!” A webbed finger points over the side of the tub, to where the glass orb sits cushioned on the (thoroughly drenched) bath mat.

She laughs harder, intending to tease him mercilessly, but then the grating, artificial tone of her doorbell rings out through the apartment.

Byleth groans. Perhaps she’s receiving her noise complaint earlier than expected.

“What the hell was that?” Felix asks, glaring into the darkness of her bedroom.

She goes to carefully dismount him, but finds it easier than expected; looking down, the surface of his tail is completely smooth again, with no trace of an opening or a protrusion. It must have gone back inside, she thinks, while she was still coming down and delirious. She’ll have to experiment with that later.

“My neighbors might have heard us,” Byleth explains, hastily wringing out her hair. “That sound means someone wants to see me.”

Worryingly, Felix looks pleased with the idea. “Oh? Well, then, you can tell them your mate has satisfied you,” he says with a smug swish of his tail.

She stares down at him mutely - she’s definitely going to have to unpack that at some point - but then the doorbell rings again and she hurries to her closet to throw on her customary fuck-it clothes: a tank top and athletic shorts.

(As she runs past the spare bathroom, Sylvain shouts an amused, “Congratulations!” that haunts her all the way to the front door.)

Byleth throws it open, irate at the interruption and intending to shoo off some college kid, but her rebuke falls flat to the landing between her and a frenzied-looking Claude.

“You were _home_?” He asks accusingly, turning his phone screen around to show her a wall of unread texts. “Why didn’t you answer me?”

His narrow, suspicious eyes go to her hair. “Why are you wet?” 

(She feels like he asks her that a lot, and the answer is always Felix.)

Before she can reply, they go to her shoulder, widening. “Why are you _bleeding_?”

Byleth glances down at the ring of shark-like bite marks at the base of her neck, reddened and already staining the collar of her top a light pink, and sighs inwardly.

“Hey, Claude,” she says with practiced nonchalance, answering zero of his four questions. “I can’t really talk right now-”

“Where are those guys you were with?” He demands, taking a stance that says she won’t be getting rid of him that easily. “Are they still in town?”

“No,” she tries, and grimaces as soon as it’s out of her mouth. Claude’s always been able to tell when she’s lying, and now is no different. His features sharpen; he steps forward, inspecting her face.

A faint splash echoes down the hallway at the worst possible moment.

Claude leans around her, brows raising. “Do you have someone over?” When Byleth grits her teeth, he continues more animatedly, “Is it _them_?”

“No,” she quickly repeats, but it’s pointless. Claude is already slipping past her - damn him, he’s so _sneaky_ \- and racing to the source of the sound.

“Claude!” She calls after him with mounting dread, turning and grabbing for the hem of his shirt. “You don’t want to do this!”

His answer is immediate and a little manic, “Oh, yes I do! You have _no_ idea how long I’ve wanted to talk with-” he skids to a stop in the hallway, sneakers squealing, as he gawks into the spare bathroom.

With a heavy, drawn-out exhale, she closes her front door and joins him, not bothering to run anymore. Inside the room, Sylvain’s lounging in the bath with an arm slung over its side. A long, mottled orange-and-gray tail hangs off the other end of the tub, its elegant, draping tip swaying back and forth.

He regards them with an easy grin, mouth full of pointed teeth. “Is he going to be cool about this?”

Claude looks like he’s rethinking his whole life - and that’s fine, so had she, it’s normal - and forming his mouth into several different word shapes that never actually produce any sound.

“Claude, are you going to be cool about this?” She prompts, laying a hand on his arm.

He jumps away from it, turning to her like he’s seeing her for the first time. “Teach, he has a-”

“Yes, I know,” she says patiently. “It’s weird and you have some soul-searching to do. But I kind of need you to promise not to tell anyone, first.”

His eyes stray back to Sylvain, half-comprehending, half-dumbfounded. “Uh-huh, big secret, I get that,” he mutters. “What are you, uh- how long have you-?”

“Since the end of this Pegasus,” she says. Claude looks at her, then down to the bite marks on her shoulder, then seems to connect their presence with Sylvain’s sharp teeth; a shallow crease forms between his eyebrows.

“ _No_ , no, not that one.” Byleth jerks a thumb down the hallway. “Mine’s in the master bath. Actually,” she says, backing out of the room, “I’m going to let you two have a little talk. Sylvain can tell you about the plan.”

“Sylvain,” Claude repeats blankly, looking back to the bath with a lopsided smile.

Byleth stifles a laugh. _Yeah, he’ll be fine_.

“Claude,” she hears Sylvain purr as she heads back to her room. “Why don’t you come here for a second?”

She quickens her pace before she hears any more.

“Who was it?” Felix asks when she enters the master bathroom.

She splashes over to him, cringing at the huge puddle of now-freezing water on the floor, and resumes her spot on the edge of the tub. “Claude- my friend from the party. I think he’s going to help us.”

Felix makes a vague and uninterested sound, pulling down the strap of her tank top and laving his tongue over her wounds. “It helps,” he clarifies to her confused frown, then rolls onto his side, folding his arms in her lap and resting his head on top of them.

The casual intimacy stuns her; is this the same Felix, she wonders, who couldn’t discuss the concept of dating (at least, she _thinks_ that’s what the ‘hunting’ thing was all about) without breaking into hives?

Cautiously, she threads her fingers into his silky hair, and he makes a low, contented sound in response.

“So, your friend,” he says idly, rolling his head to the side so he can fix her with one eye. “What did he think?”

Byleth snorts, recalling the sheer amount of effort Claude has put into discovering ‘Mystery Man’s identity. “I think he really likes Sylvain,” she says dryly, and Felix chuckles. “He’ll come around quickly.”

On cue, a suspicious bang and splash travels through the wall from the other bathroom, and she thinks Claude might be getting a sampling of her earlier treatment.

Best not to think about it too hard, she decides.

His eyes flutter closed when she reaches the hair at the nape of his neck. “-I didn’t want you to carry Sylvain, anyway.”

She watches him with a skeptical smile - _that’s_ his worry? - that softens to fondness when her eyes drift to the orb. She’ll have to find a safe, prominent place to put it; the kitchen windowsill is much too dangerous for its significance.

“And...I do,” Felix says hesitantly after a while. His voice is so quiet that Byleth has to bend over to hear it, and even then, the end of his sentence is too faint to discern.

“What?”

“I said-” he turns his face so it’s buried in his arms, completely hidden, and the tips of his ears are bright red, “-I love you, too.”

A beat of silence passes and then, as if to erase the vulnerability, he turns fiercely back to her and snaps, “Did you hear _that_?”

It’s difficult to fight down her knee-jerk impulse to laugh, but she manages.

“Yes,” she says evenly, returning her fingers to the spot on his scalp he’d enjoyed the most.

“Good.” His tone and posture relax, becoming much less threatening than he probably intends, as her fingernails scrape over his skin. “Because I won’t say it again.”

“Mmm,” she readily agrees, only allowing herself to grin when his eyes fall shut once more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> claude later that night, after getting rawed in his best friend's bathroom and returning two mermen to the ocean: centaur huh
> 
> byleth, who also got rawed, bleeding through three band-aids: ...haha...


End file.
